Parthenogenic Metamorphosis

The yearly hoopla in honor of the goddess of metamorphosis was held in the lounge of a Holiday Inn by a backwards-flowing river that washed away paper coffee cups and dead fishies. It was the most fin (har har or was that Fun) that I've eveer had in my life. I knew that it was my destiny to know the thousand Japanese girls racing around the pool on skateboards, sunning by the waterslide (remember those? My heart aches.) Clowns abound before the mosaic on the cement wall under the bridge. "She speaks! The head, it speaks!" It says: "Shut up. Be patient. And pray." When I emerged, I was all angles, black and white in slowly-swirling patterns. Parthenogenic metamorphosis. I no longer had to crawl around on a million undulating suckerfeet.